


(sleep)(dream)(wake)

by bleebug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Did I Mention Angst?, F/M, Gen, cs angst, cursed Killian has a wife so don't read if that's not cool with u
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 05:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11821965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleebug/pseuds/bleebug
Summary: Dreams and visions keep Emma's memory of a lost life alive, but she's well and truly trapped in a place where no one will believe her, not even the man who should trust her more than anyone. She's not even sure she believes herself. (An angsty S6 finale canon divergent.)





	1. deep breath in; count to ten

“And how are you feeling today, Emma?”

She shrugs one shoulder and sinks back further into the seat. “Fine, I guess.”

“Any more dreams? Nightmares? Visions, voices?”

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’ and raising her brows, her smile fake and almost mocking in its sweetness.

Her doctor doesn’t seem to think it’s a cute gesture at all.

“You know I’m here to help you,” he says calmly, but Emma can hear the frustration beneath it. “But I can’t do that if you’re not honest with me.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

She watches as he raises his hand to his brow, pinching the bridge of his nose momentarily before he takes a deep breath and composes himself.

“If you aren’t interested in talking now, I can always come back on a day when you decide to be more cooperative.”

It’s kind of funny, she thinks. He makes such a terrible therapist. But maybe that’s not his fault; it’s just by design. Someday, they might look back on this all and laugh about it. That’s probably too much to hope for.

He sighs.

“Look, we want the same thing – for you to leave this place and get back out into the real world. To be able to see your son again, perhaps even be granted unsupervised visitation at some point. You want that, don’t you?”

She nods solemnly and he goes on.

“So, if you please, I’d really like for us to get somewhere today. Don’t you?”

“What if I have other things I want to talk about?”

“Do you?”

After a few moments of humming and hawing, she shares a series of complaints about her accommodations. There’s a lot to say on the subject, ranging from an uncomfortable mattress, to a serious lack of greasy foods available for consumption, to her newest prescription change. There’s that mean nurse who always glares at her, and the annoying patient in the room next to hers who kicks the wall all night long and keeps her awake.

The good doctor doesn’t interrupt to say anything more than a dull, “ _And how does that make you feel?”_  every once in a while. Emma knows he’s tired.  _She’s_  tired.

She comes to the end of her rant a good while later, feeling a little lighter for getting it off her chest. But it’s all on the surface. And when he assumes she has no more to say, he stands, ready to leave.

And Emma panics.

“My dream,” she says to his back. He pauses and turns, a more patient expression than he had before. But he does not return to his seat across from her, and she’s not fond of the distance.

“What about it?”

“I got married.”

Her lungs suddenly feel tight, but she remembers the exercises. Deep breath in; count to ten; slow breath out; count it down. The doctor lifts a brow and she waits to see how he processes that.

“To… Captain Hook?” It’s said as more a statement than question, but Emma can tell he’s requesting confirmation.

“Naturally.”

“And this was… a good dream? Bad dream? Indifferent?”

“Good,” she replies, swallowing down an oncoming lump in her throat. “Really good. The vows were beautiful and there was singing and dancing. I don’t know that I’ve ever been so happy.”

There’s a curious furrow between his brows, like he’s trying to conjure up an image of the dream himself, but Emma blinks and it’s gone. He glances at the clock on the wall.

“We’ll talk more about it next session, all right? I have another meeting I need to be getting to. Until next time, Emma.”

When his fingers reach the doorknob, she quietly clears her throat.

“You know it’s you, right?” He does not respond, but freezes in his tracks. She stares at the back of his head and silently wills him to look at her face.

“So you’ve said.”

The slight waver in his voice gives her hope, but his words break her heart. When he finally opens the door and takes a step out, she glances at his ringed finger and offers a quiet, weak, “Tell your wife I said hello, Doctor Jones.”

The door closes behind him and Emma waits for the nurse to retrieve her, the pads of her fingers running along the empty spot where a diamond and a silver band should be sitting. Does she miss their weight? Were they ever there to begin with?


	2. gray tone

He grasps the paper bag tighter, watching the man he came to see place a bulky file back into a lock-and-key cabinet, and hesitantly taps the open door with his prosthetic.

“Oh, Killian!” he greets, smiling broadly. “What a surprise.”

“Archie. Apologies for showing up unannounced. I was hoping you’d still be here.”

Archie’s smile falters. “I’m afraid I was just about to head out to-”

“Lunch?” Killian steps inside, takes the few short strides to the desk, and places the bag next to a half-used box of tissues. “No onions, double tomatoes, Swiss cheese instead of American, and fries.”

“Wow, quite the memory you have.” He looks impressed, leaning back against the edge of the desk to take a peek inside the bag. “What’s the special occasion?”

“No occasion, mate, I was just hoping that I could… talk to you.”

Archie pauses and raises both brows questioningly. “As a friend or as a professional?”

“Both.” He then quickly tacks on, “If you aren’t too busy.”

“Not at all. You know you’re always welcome here. Have a seat.”

He hasn’t sat across from Archie in some time, at least not in this capacity. But even after all this time, it’s still familiar. Killian isn’t the most popular fellow, especially given his connections, and there are few people he could turn to with this kind of issue. Well,  _one_ person, actually, which is why he’s here.

He lets his friend take a few bites before he begins, already feeling guilty for disturbing him during his lunch hour.

“It’s about Emma Swan.”

Archie very nearly chokes around his mouthful of burger, and Killian presses a napkin into his hand as he sputters. When he finally manages to breath again, he gives Killian a slightly disapproving look. “I thought you’d settled those issues, Doctor Jones.”

Using his title was a bit underhanded, so he replies in kind.

“You know I wouldn’t do anything to a patient, Doctor Hopper.” He relaxes when Archie sighs and nods accordingly. “It’s been so long now but I’m still having trouble getting through to her and I thought you might be able to help.”

“I see. And this new ‘trouble’ has nothing to do with your personal feelings?”

“No.”  _Damn,_  he thinks. He answered that far too quickly. And it’s no help that he immediately recalls his earlier words to Emma, about how one can only receive help if they’re willing to be honest. “Maybe. Yes? I’m not sure…

“Look, I wasn’t here when she had her breakdown; you were. I don’t know who she was before we met, but it worries me greatly that while you’ve made great strides with Henry, Emma is still, years later, unable to let go of her delusions. They come in visions and dreams, she says. But getting her to understand that those are figments of her imagination rather than glimpses of her actual life before the town was ‘cursed’ is a task I’ve never managed to achieve.

“I want to help her, Archie. But she’s becoming increasingly difficult, refusing to talk about things now for whatever reason. I ask a question, she dodges it. And when she  _does_  tell me things… I don’t know. It’s strange. Sometimes I feel like… perhaps I should be locked up there, too.”

“Killian, I think you’re just frustrated. You can’t win them all, you know. I’d love if it were possible, but sometimes all you can do is provide them a stable environment, the right balance of medication and therapy, and hope for the best.”

“Give up, you mean.”

“It’s not giving up. It’s recognizing that you aren’t superhuman, that you can’t fix everyone. I came to that very conclusion when she was still in my care. We can’t all be heroes.”

Killian smirks at the phrasing; Emma Swan might argue that point. It’s part of the reason he struggles so much. Underneath all that cynicism and anger and fear, there’s this bright optimism and stubborn belief in good. And it’s wrong and inappropriate and terrible, but he finds that quality in her almost as beautiful as she is. Archie has told him, and he’s told  _himself_ , countless times how those damned budding feelings for her need to be kept in check. He hates that even when she’s frustrating, she’s endearing. Even when she gives him a headache with her lack of progress, he must fight the urge to reach out and hold her hand.

Sometimes he wonders if it wouldn’t actually be cruel to take away those delusions of hers, wonders if that light in her eyes would fade and gray when she accepts reality. He wonders if that’s how  _he_  sees the world right now, all gray tone and dulled, and if he might find it more beautiful through her eyes, with fairy tales come to life, a new character around every corner.

(He wonders how her Captain Hook sees the world, if that’s what he’s missing.)

Crueler, though, is the thought of Henry never being able to spend time with her again. And that’s something he can’t fathom.

“I can’t give up on her. If not for her sake, for Henry’s.”

Archie nods, finishing off his meal and crumpling everything up in the bag. “You are in a precarious position, you know.”

“I’m aware. I’ve always been aware.”

“And… what does your wife think?”

He clenches his fist against his thigh. “If you mean about my continuing treatment of Emma, she has given me her full support.”

“And I’m assuming you haven’t mentioned your recurring personal issues regarding Emma Swan?”

“Why would I burden her with something that doesn’t matter?”

“Killian, it matters. Do you think she would be nearly as supportive if she knew that you were struggling with your feelings for her?”

“I’m never going to act on those feelings, Archie.”

“Never? Can you really say that for certain? Can you see her three times a week for another two years and keep your marriage intact?” Killian deflates at that, eyes closed and brows drawing together. “You came here for my opinion, yes? And my opinion is: given your familial ties, your position as an authority figure, and your own emotional imbalance, you should let this one go. Give her to another doctor before you do something stupid. And, Killian, I say that as a friend.”

It takes several long moments of silence, of processing, of weighing an imaginary list of pros and cons, of running his fingers haphazardly through his hair, before he sighs and stands.

“I… thank you for hearing me out, Archie. And for the advice.”

“Advice that I’m sure you have no intention of listening to,” he says, but there’s no malice or frustration there. Killian even sees a hint of a smile, and he returns it.

“I will take it into consideration.”

They shake hands before Killian turns to leave and as he turns down the hallway, he hears Archie holler from the doorway, “We should get together for dinner this week sometime, the whole family. I’ll pay you back for lunch.”

“Sure, mate. I’ll have to ask my wife about her schedule first.”

“I understand. Busy woman.”

Killian tosses him a weak grin at the head of the stairwell, and before he uses them he shrugs and says, “Comes with the job. Mayors don’t get much spare time.”


End file.
